


a home for those who wander

by t_3po



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Star Trek Beyond, this is actually just 9k+ words of them taking care of a sehlat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 15:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8377141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_3po/pseuds/t_3po
Summary: The surviving members of the Enterprise have been planetside for almost four months. The ship is still docked at Yorktown for repairs. Repairs usually don’t take longer than three months, but after UFP announced the necessity of reconstruction in San Francisco, and raising the security of Starfleet headquarters, most of the budget went there. Seeking new civilizations isn’t the top priority of Starfleet this year. Giving Jim Kirk a purpose is not their top priority.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Don't be fooled by the summary this is actually a ridiculously long fic where Spock and Jim have a pet sehlat and it was supposed to be less than 3K words but something obviously happened. Anyway thanks to my boi rei @girlspock for editing this <3 But like I didn't show nim the final version before publishing. So...yeah

“I’m telling you, Jim,” Bones says, rolling his eyes “He’s fine.”  
  
Jim disagrees. He disagrees with Bones a lot on various topics—food, clothes, the safety of motorcycles, the chances of getting a weird STD through interspecies sex (“That only happened once, Bones!”). It’s how their friendship works and according to Bones, how he manages to keep Jim in one piece. This time, however, Jim’s practically fighting the urge to lift a neon-colored sign telling the world, the universe, that Bones is fucking wrong.  
  
“Spock doesn’t cancel on me,” Jim grouses, ignoring Bones’ snort. He’s whining, he knows, but Jim doesn’t care anymore. “I mean, he does sometimes but he always gives me a reason like—captain, I require meditation and will not be seeing you for chess this evening or captain, I will not be joining you at the mess hall because I need to work on an experiment—and this time there isn’t one. I tried to comm him twice and I already sent his PADD several messages but he hasn’t replied. Bones, I’m worried about him.”  
  
“Have you considered that not everyone wants to be with you 24/7? The hobgoblin’s probably sick of looking after you."  
  
“You lying skank, Spock loves me,” he quips. The joke falls flat and Jim feels his face heat at the knowing look Bones gives him. Drinking that brandy they’d stolen from Chekov was a mistake: that one drunken confession somehow made things worse because it was supposed to just be a fleeting attraction, an acknowledgement of Spock’s aesthetic appeal, but after telling Bones about it, it developed into a crush.

Or rather, Jim can’t deny that he has a crush. He doesn’t want to say that he’s a little bit in love with Spock because the concept of loving someone is still foreign to Jim. And crush is an accurate word to describe the way Jim feels when he sees Spock: like his heart’s too big in his chest and his ribcage isn’t wide enough to keep it in, crushing it against his bones.  
  
A crush.  
  
He sets the PADD on the table, ignoring Bones’ grumbling about keeping it steady. The chairs on either side of him are empty, and the waiter who asked him for his order an hour ago keeps giving him these pitying glances that’s driving Jim nuts. Bones and Spock were supposed to meet him today, but Joanna’s starring in a school play and Bones had missed enough of Joanna’s milestones already, hence the reason for the holo chat. Bones doesn’t say it out loud and Jim will never admit it but there’s no denying it.

He’s lonely.  
  
He hasn’t felt it in a long time, not since he’d greeted Pike in the shipyard and climbed aboard the shuttle that took him to the Academy. Jim grew up dealing with being alone, although one of his therapists had criticized his methods of dealing with it—bar fights and numerous one-night stands aren’t exactly the healthiest ways to handle loneliness.  
  
The surviving members of the Enterprise have been planetside for almost four months. The ship is still docked at Yorktown for repairs. Repairs usually don’t take longer than three months, but after UFP announced the necessity of reconstruction in San Francisco and raising the security of Starfleet headquarters, most of the budget went there. Seeking new civilizations isn’t the top priority of Starfleet this year. Giving Jim Kirk a purpose is not their top priority.

 Jim’s managed to cross paths with other starship captains who have too little assignments and too much time on their hands. They all have the same lost expression, like they’re not exactly sure what they’re supposed to be doing now that they’re no longer commanding a ship.  
  
It scares Jim a bit. A lot.  
  
Outside Starfleet, Jim has no purpose. The long leave is making him afraid of what will happen to him once he can no longer explore space. It’s partly why he turned down the position of vice admiral at Yorktown, but he can’t be a captain forever. He can only delay it.  
  
Jim’s only just started thinking about the future. He spent the first month travelling, paying his condolences to the families of crew members who’d passed, and learning not to flinch at the accusing looks they’d fired at him. But with all that done, Jim has nowhere to go and no one to talk to. Most of his crew members went to where their families are but Jim has no one. Sam hasn’t been to Earth in more than a decade and he and Jim haven’t really gotten along since Sam ran away from home. As for his mother, she’s busy helping out in constructing another Starbase, a few light-years away from Yorktown, and they haven’t really talked much since Jim decided to follow in his father’s footsteps by becoming a starship captain.

So Jim decided to stay in San Francisco, and Starfleet roped him into helping train recruits every weekday from 0900 to 1700. But that still leaves him with too much time and Jim’s getting sick of watching television. Bones does his best to holo chat him from Georgia and as much as Jim looks forward to those, he doesn’t want to take too much of his time with Joanna.  
  
Spock’s the only one of the senior crew staying in San Francisco. He’s teaching xenolinguistics at Starfleet but their schedules don’t match so Jim’s only seen him a couple of times in the mess hall. This week, Jim hasn’t seen him at all, which sucks for Jim because—as pathetic as it sounds—seeing Spock is the highlight of his day. Seeing Spock puts the fear at bay, distracts him enough so that he won’t have to think about what will happen when he’s no longer commanding the Enterprise.  
  
“Listen, kid,” Bones says in the regretful tone that signals he’s about to end the chat. Jim sighs.  
  
“Look why don’t you try visiting Spock?” Bones suggests. “It won’t hurt to try and I’m sure he’ll love the company in his own weird Vulcan way.”  
  
Jim shrugs. “I guess. Say hello to Joanna for me.”  
  
He ends the call before Bones can say anything else.

* * *

  
Spock lives in the most diverse part of San Francisco, with only 43% of the population Human. The rest are from different Federation planets who warmed up to the idea of living on Earth. Jim supposes that it’s easier this way for Spock. Unlike when they were in the Academy, he doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb.  
  
Well, didn’t. Before the destruction of Vulcan, when seeing a Vulcan on Earth wasn’t uncommon.  
  
Jim does his best to shake off the guilt that suddenly curls in his gut. It’s been years but Jim’s mind will sometimes flash back to the red matter, to the darkness that broke out from the ground and consumed an entire planet. He and Spock have never talked about it, not since Spock had closed his fingers around Jim’s throat. Jim isn’t sure if Spock will even accept his apology because it isn’t _logical_ for Jim to feel this way. What happened wasn’t his fault, and as for the things he’d yelled at Spock, Spock will probably just tell Jim that it was necessary to emotionally compromise him.  
  
He doesn’t know what he’s doing, taking the train to Spock’s place, but the only other option is to go back to his empty flat, and Jim doesn’t feel like spending another night watching a badly dubbed soap opera from Coridan. Besides, he’s curious as to why Spock isn’t responding to any of his messages, and as irrational as it is, he’s a little bit scared.  
  
He almost lost Spock when they were separated in Altamid. Jim doesn’t want to go through that again.  
  
The train’s starting to slow down, the hum of the holo wheels getting louder as it pulls to a stop. “Mind the gap,” a cheery voice reminds in Standard. The doors swish open and Jim lets the horde push him outside.  
  
Spock’s apartment is only a fifteen-minute walk away from the station. Jim’s never been there before, but Starfleet requires the senior officers to be updated on each other’s whereabouts when planetside for more than a month.  
  
The address leads him to a tall 21st century-styled building at the end of the block. Spock, according to his file, lives on the 34th floor in Room 398. The Tellarite doorman narrows his eyes at Jim, but Jim quickly moves to the lift, squeezing himself between two Andorians arguing about the necessity of Human amusement parks.  
  
As they rise, Jim wonders whether or not Spock will appreciate him visiting. He isn’t even sure if Spock is home. He’d stopped at a tea shop to buy an excuse for visiting, but taking the train all the way to Spock’s place just to give him tea that he probably already has in his kitchen doesn’t seem like enough of a reason to stop by.  
  
_I’m here already_ , Jim reasons to himself as he walks down the hall to where Spock’s place is. _I can bullshit my way through this.  
_  
The door swings open at his second knock, much to Jim’s surprise, and the ‘hello’ he was about to say dies in his mouth.  
  
He stares. _It’s rude to stare._ The voice in his head disturbingly sounds like a combination of Nyota and his mother but Jim will analyze that later.  
  
There’s a good reason to keep staring.  
  
Spock looks…domestic. It’s not a word he thought he’d ever associate with Spock, but it’s the only thing Jim can think of at the sight of him. His usually perfectly combed hair is a bit of a mess, his bangs ruffled over his forehead and looking in need of a cut. There’s a bright orange stain near the collar of his wrinkled white shirt. Jim’s eyes dart to where Spock’s sweatpants hang too low, mouth drying at the pale strip of belly between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his pants.  
  
“Captain,” Spock greets. Jim’s head snaps up, face heating at having been caught ogling Spock, but he quickly recovers and gives Spock the lascivious smile he uses at bars and clubs. “Jim,” he corrects, doing his best to keep the smile in place. His heart is pounding, wondering whether or not Spock will finally pick up on the flirting. “It’s Jim, not captain. Or do you really just like saying that, Mr Spock?”  
  
Spock raises an eyebrow and Jim snorts, strangely pleased at the reaction and also somewhat annoyed that Spock doesn’t seem to _get_ Human flirting. At all. Jim’s tried multiple times, at first, just to be annoying because he does that to most of his close friends who don’t mind, but recently, he’s been doing it because he _wants_ Spock. Technically, Jim could ask Nyota how to flirt with Spock but that’s not exactly the kind of conversation either of them will enjoy (“Hey Nyota how do I seduce your ex-boyfriend?” Yeah,no thanks). Besides, Jim bets that the entire Enterprise crew will know about it ten minutes later because Nyota will tell Scotty, and Scotty is the worst person to ask to keep a secret.  
  
“Um,” Jim says, his bravado fading when Spock just continues to look at him with a bemused expression. “I brought tea.” He raises the plastic bag in his hand to show Spock. “And you kinda ditched me back there. I was wondering what you were up to since you weren’t answering any of my messages.”  
  
Jim doesn’t know if he’s imagining it but Spock’s cheeks appear to gain a greenish tinge. He quickly looks over his shoulder, then back to Jim. “Apologies, Jim. My attention was focused on something else this morning,” he says.  
  
Jim chuckles, relieved. “Are you trying to make me jealous?”  
  
The eyebrow again. But this time, Spock gives him that tiny not-quite smile that makes Jim’s heart flip every time he sees it.  
  
Spock steps aside and Jim walks in, the heat of Spock’s apartment quickly enveloping him. He slides his jacket off then sends Spock a grateful smile when he orders the computer to make the atmosphere more manageable for Jim. The temperature drops to something similar to the Enterprise’s, and nostalgia settles in Jim’s heart like a rock.  
  
He follows Spock to the living room: a brightly lit circular area with more plants than furniture. Vegetables, Jim’s mind supplies. Potted plants hang from the ceiling, vines reaching the floor. This part of San Francisco isn’t exactly the best place for gardening so the numerous indoor plants aren’t a surprise, but Jim didn’t know that Spock grows his own food. Spock takes the tea from him then tells Jim to make himself comfortable. As soon as he’s gone to the kitchen, Jim moves to the tall shelf that had caught his eye upon entering the room.  
  
It’s mostly filled with medals and trophies and certificates, some from Starfleet, some from Vulcan. On the topmost shelf, there’s a radio and Jim looks at the screen to see what songs Spock likes. He gives up after a bit because most of the songs are from Vulcan and there’s a folder there that’s titled classical which Jim avoids because anything before the 22nd century is considered classical, and Jim doubts that Spock listens to the kind of classical music that he and Jaylah like. Beside the radio, there’s a strange-looking instrument that Jim thinks must be some sort of lyre. He didn’t know that Spock played an instrument. It dawns on him that he doesn’t actually know much about Spock, which is kind of weird, seeing as how he and Spock have saved the world (well, San Francisco and Yorktown) multiple times already. He’s already died for Spock, and you’d think that after all that, Jim would at least know that Spock can play an instrument.

He doesn’t even know what Spock’s favorite color is. Or if he even has one.  
  
On the shelf at his eye-level, there are two framed photographs, printed in the traditional method of paper and ink. One of them, Jim has a copy of. It was taken shortly before they embarked on the five-year mission—Jim standing at the very front with Spock and Bones at either side of him. The second photograph, he doesn’t understand at first, and Jim’s about to dismiss it when recognition slams into him. He steps back, heart pounding as he stares at the woman they’d failed to save.  
  
Spock has his mother’s eyes.  
  
A loud crash from the kitchen makes him jump. Spock is saying something in Vulcan which, going by the tone, sounds a lot like a stream of expletives. “What’s going on,” Jim asks, turning to Spock who’s frowning at a broken tea set and a—  
  
A teddy bear?  
  
“When did you get a dog?” Jim asks even though the thing is obviously not a dog. At least, not an Earth dog.  
  
It’s about the size of a badger, covered in soft brown fur that gleams golden under the kitchen lights. It does look a bit like a teddy bear, except teddy bears aren’t alive and they usually don’t come with fangs. It was sniffing the broken tea set when Jim came in, but at the sound of Jim’s voice the creature rises on its hind legs, round black eyes watching Jim cautiously.  
  
Spock moves, gripping Jim’s elbow tightly. Jim glances at him then back to the thing which suddenly emits a low growl..  
  
They stand there for a moment. Then the creature blinks, sniffs the air curiously, and, probably finding Jim uninteresting, walks over to Spock. _It can walk like a humanoid_ , Jim thinks, fascinated. _Like a_ bear.  
  
“It’s a sehlat cub,” Spock explains. He releases his hold on Jim to rest his hand on the sehlat’s head. It makes a low rumbling sound not unlike a cat’s purr.  
  
“This, Jim, is what has been keeping me busy.”

* * *

  
The sehlat came from a Starfleet research center that was doing the Repopulate New Vulcan project. Zoo animals native to Vulcan were being brought in for research and breeding so they could eventually be transported to New Vulcan. The Vulcan High Council had asked Spock to go and help update the center’s database on Vulcan culture and history.

The sehlat was a two-month old cub that had recently lost its mother from a bloodworm disease detected too late. It had, through its cage, looked at Spock and immediately caused a fuss.  
  
The sehlat had imprinted on Spock. Jim doesn’t know if the sehlat was able to tell but it seems too much of coincidence to remain one: that a sehlat that had lost its mother had imprinted on a Vulcan who’d lost his mother.  
  
Sehlats, Spock tells him, are fiercely loyal creatures. “It’s not uncommon for a sehlat to attach itself to a Vulcan to serve as their protector. Separation from its master, while possible, is not ideal for an orphaned cub. The research center gave me temporary custody of her.”  
  
“They gave you a pet.”  
  
“A research project,” Spock corrects, sounding a bit miffed. “I am to take her to the research center every Saturday to assure them that she is doing well in my care”. The sehlat is sitting beside him, curled up against Spock’s thigh. It’s gnawing on a green chew toy that Jim thinks looks a lot like Keenser. The toy makes squeaking sounds every time the sehlat’s jaws clamp down on it, and Jim can’t help but imagine Spock buying it at pet shop, checking every toy they have for ‘maximum squeakiness’. He bites his lip to keep himself from laughing out loud.  
  
“It thinks you’re its mother,” Jim teases. Spock gives him the Vulcan-equivalent of a death glare but Jim isn’t fazed, not after years of Spock serving as his First Officer. He sets his tea down then reaches a hand to touch the sehlat, ignoring Spock’s warning. The sehlat’s ears twitch, its lion-like tail wagging happily when Jim’s fingers sink into its fur. Jim scratches the back of its neck and the creature emits another happy rumble.  
  
“You should name it.”  
  
“It isn’t mine,” Spock argues, but Jim can see the hesitation in his eyes. “She will be brought to New Vulcan as soon as she matures into an adult. If her attachment to me does not fade, my father will care for her. Only then will she be considered ‘mine’.”  
  
“Then that makes her part of the family and you can’t have a pet and just call it ‘it’ forever. How about we name her—Fluffy?”  
  
“An inappropriate and inaccurate name.”  
  
“Dracula,” Jim suggests, only half-joking. He bares his teeth at Spock, pointing to his canines. “For the fangs. It’s a classic Earth story. About vampires. They suck blood.”  
  
“Sehlats do not ‘suck’ blood. Their fangs are primarily used to tear meat.”  
  
“Fine.” Jim cocks his head to one side and studies the creature carefully. “You’ve seen bears, haven’t you?”  
  
“I will not call it Bear, if that is what you’re suggesting. A bear is a different species altogether.”  
  
“No, but you can’t deny that it _looks_ like a bear. How about…” Jim trails off, thinking. “How about Ursa? After the constellation. It looks like a bear and as for the constellation thing, well you’re its master--don’t deny it!--and you’re a Starfleet officer. A man of the stars.” Jim puts on his winning smile. “It’s a great name. You _have_ to agree.”  
  
Spock shrugs but he doesn’t protest and Jim whoops in delight. “We’re going to have so much fun with you,” Jim tells the sehlat. Her tail wraps around his wrist softly, like a caress.

* * *

  
  
Jim doesn’t quite understand how it happens, but as days go by, his visits to Spock become more frequent, and at one point, when Jim is at the park holding Ursa’s leash while she sniffs at a tree, he realizes that he signed up in helping Spock raise a sehlat. It consumes most of the time he has that isn’t reserved for Starfleet, but there’s plenty of that and Jim doesn’t really mind. Raising a very young sehlat, it turns out, isn’t easy. They’re clingy and somewhat destructive which, Jim figures, isn’t too different from the behavior of a Human baby. How Spock managed so long by himself is a wonder to Jim, but Spock’s always been great at multitasking, anyway, making him the best First Officer in the fleet.  
  
(Jim isn’t biased. Except he totally is.)  
  
Sehlats, Jim learns, behave less like bears and more like dogs. Jim’s used to dogs; you have to be if you grew up in a farm. Spock had a pet sehlat when he was younger so they aren’t completely out of their depth in taking care of a cub.  
  
(Although there are still mishaps. Like that time Jim thought sehlats can be taught to play fetch, only to find out that hunting’s too ingrained in them, and instead of bringing back the stick Jim had thrown, Ursa had presented him with a furious Rigellian she’d grabbed by the scruff of his neck. The only reason why Jim isn’t in Rigellian prison right now is because Spock had used his status as the son of an ambassador to charm their way out of trouble.)  
  
Jim falls into a routine. Wake up, shower, breakfast, teach at the Academy, then take the train to Spock’s place. Sometimes he’ll stop at tea shops or vegetarian restaurants to pick up something for Spock because Winona raised him to be polite and Spock skips meals when he’s too wrapped up in experiments, which annoys Bones and Jim to no end. Jim tells himself that he keeps buying things for Spock because he’s concerned for his health, but the way Spock will reward him with that little smile of his is the real reason why Jim keeps doing it. Then there are times when Jim falls asleep on Spock’s sofa, too tired to catch the train home, and he’ll wake up with a blanket thrown over him and Ursa curled against his feet like his own personal heater.  
  
It’s the reason why Jim’s started leaving some of his clothes in Spock’s apartment. Spock doesn’t complain and Jim does his best not to think about how domestic this entire situation is. This is what couples do.

They aren’t one.

They take turns walking Ursa who attracts curious stares whenever Jim takes her out, which Jim supposes isn’t unreasonable since sehlats aren’t exactly Earth pets. He still has no explanation as to why some Vulcans who’ve seen him with her keep giving him the eyebrow lift, and every time he asks Spock he just gives him the same look. It’s honestly starting to annoy Jim so he stops asking lest he do something drastic, like shave Spock’s eyebrows off while he’s asleep.

 Ursa grows quickly, although Spock explains that her growth development is actually slower than the average sehlat’s because she’d been raised in captivity.  
  
“How big do they grow?” Jim asks. They’re at the park once more, and Jim’s struggling to keep up as Ursa half-drags him to a small patch of tulips. She’s chewing on the flowers but Ursa eats practically anything so Jim isn’t concerned. She’s kind of like a garbage disposal, eating anything that Jim no longer wants.

Spock looks up from his PADD at the question. He has it with him at all times, like it’s a part of him. Jim looked at it once and saw that Spock was recording Ursa’s development, although Jim is no longer sure if it’s for the research center where Spock had gotten her or if it’s one of Spock’s many personal projects. It reminds Jim of the babybook his sister-in-law Aurelan had carried around when Jim had attended Peter’s christening. He’s tempted to tell Spock this, but Jim’s smart enough to keep his mouth closed. He’s felt the Vulcan nerve pinch before, and Jim wants to avoid getting knocked out that way for the rest of his life.

“Approximately 10.8 ft tall for females when on their hind legs,” Spock answers. “Sehlats were often used as a means of transportation by families who possessed them.”  
  
“You mean Vulcans ride them?” He imagines Spock sitting astride a huge grizzly bear.  
  
“Used to,” Spock replies, eyes flicking back to his PADD. ‘Used to’, past tense. The guilt rises again and Jim opens his mouth, the years-late apology already forming in his throat, when Ursa tugs hard, sending Jim sprawling to the ground. Spock looks at him, eyebrows raised in alarm.  
  
“I’m fine,” Jim insists even though his arm feels like it was almost ripped from its socket. Spock helps him up, his slim hand warm in Jim’s grasp. Jim winces at the pulled muscle in his shoulder. He assures Spock that it’s nothing, he’s fine, but he’s buying Jim coffee for this.  
  
Pets aren’t allowed in the coffee shop they find so Spock hands him his credits then waits outside with Ursa. The barista flirts with Jim and Jim plays along, not really taking it seriously until they grab a marker and, pushing up Jim’s sleeve, scrawl their number on his forearm. “I’ll keep in touch,” he says with a wink even though he probably won’t. Spock’s brows furrow a bit when Jim hands him his tea, his eyes narrowing on the row of numbers on Jim’s skin.  
  
“Happens all the time.” It’s supposed to be a joke and Jim waits for the little half-smile to appear again but Spock doesn’t even look pleased with him. The rest of the walk home is silent, neither of them looking at each other. Jim wonders what he did wrong.

* * *

  
  
There’s a whole week that’s reserved for testing students in battlefield readiness and Jim’s asked to help make sure the students don’t do anything stupid which, according to an old professor of his, is pretty ironic, considering how Jim cheated on the Kobayashi Maru. “You can’t prove it!” Jim shouts, making the professors listening in laugh.  
  
“Did you ever tell Commander Spock how you did it?” one of them asks.  
  
“Nah and Spock hates me for that.” Jim shrugs. _There wasn’t time to explain since Vulcan was in danger and after we failed to save it, there wasn’t a good reason to bring it up anymore._ The professor that asked him is new so she chuckles at Jim’s reply, but the others who were there during the academic tribunal are silent, their smiles coming out a bit forced.  
  
It’s a busy week for both Jim and Spock, so Jim doesn’t see Spock again until Saturday. When he gets there, Spock is dressed to brace the chilly weather: a long black coat, a sweater, and a blue toque that hides the points of his ears. Ursa’s on her strongest leash--the one with thick ropes that strap across her chest.

“Going out for a walk?”  
  
“Negative. I am taking her to the research center to update them of her progress.”  
  
“Ah, Vet Day.” Jim’s never been to the research center where Spock had gotten Ursa. The curiosity must show on his face because Spock adds, “You may accompany us if you wish.”  
  
The research center is in New York which is more diverse than San Francisco so no one gives Ursa more than a half-glance. An Orion girl pins a visitor’s badge on the front of Jim’s shirt, smiling at Jim coyly and Jim grins back, flattered by the attention. Spock huffs and drags him away by sleeve of his shirt. They enter a room filled with large cages. Jim hangs back to gawp at the creatures behind each one. A dog-like creature with a large horn protruding from its forehead yips at him when he touches the glass of its cage.  
  
“Jim,” Spock scolds, “Please keep up.” Jim complies but he stops whenever he sees a strange creature, which unfortunately for Spock, is often.  
  
“Is that…That’s a tortoise. What’s it doing there?”  
  
“It is considered a sacred creature to the Rigellians who wish to breed them in their planet.”  
  
“It’s a _tortoise_.”  
  
A Vulcan dressed in science blues welcomes them at the end of the room. “Greetings,” she says to Jim, saluting him with traditional Vulcan greeting that Jim does his best to return. “I am T’Kal.” She looks at Jim’s hand where the end of Ursa’s leash is wrapped around his fingers.  
  
“You are not of the House of Sarek?” she asks. It almost sounds accusing. Jim casts a questioning glance at Spock.  
  
“Um. No.”  
  
T’Kal’s eyes shift to Spock who shoots her a rather defiant look, startling Jim. Jim’s about to ask if there’s a problem when T’Kal drops her gaze then takes Ursa from him, encouraging her to climb on top a low exam table. He doesn’t understand half of what’s going on and his Vulcan is pretty rusty so he merely watches T’Kal and Spock exchange notes on sehlat development. Spock performs a meld with Ursa and T’Kal does the same to the sehlat. “I will make sure the sehlat is in peak health. The process will take 1.3 hours. You may leave her with me,” T’Kal assures them. Jim can feel her curious gaze follow him out the door.  
  
Spock takes him to the observation deck on the top floor of the center. It’s still morning but there must be a show going on because there’s a projection of a galaxy--the Milky Way to be exact--on the glass dome that makes up the ceiling. It takes him awhile, but Jim eventually finds the constellation he was looking for: Ursa Major.  
  
It turns out that a class of kids are on a field trip, and one of them recognizes Jim from the news (he’s been kind of famous ever since they gave him command of the Enterprise and kids worship him for being the youngest starship captain ever). They pile around him, asking him to take photographs with them, and Jim complies, laughing when one of them finds Spock and they insist on getting pictures with him as well. The children shove scraps of paper in his hands, and Jim does his best to sign his name on each one using the broken crayons they gave him.  
  
“You’re great with kids,” Jim observes as Spock sets down a child who’d insisted on climbing on his shoulders. A teacher finally takes over, frantically apologizing for his students’ behavior.  
  
“It shouldn’t be a surprise,” Jim says once the kids are all gone. They’d left him a purple crayon and a sugary stickiness where their hands had touched him. “You’re great at taking care of Ursa.”  
  
“There is no correlation—”  
  
“I meant the caring, Spock. Most Humans think Vulcans don’t really care about others but you do.”  
  
“You are not like most Humans, Jim,” Spock says softly. It sounds like a compliment, and Jim doesn’t know what to do with it, unused to hearing compliments from Spock. An awkward silence falls over them and Jim racks his brains for a way to get rid of it. He twists the crayon in his hand.

 “Hey, Spock,” he says, sliding the crayon in the pocket of his jeans. “What’s your favorite color?”

 Spock blinks. “Dr McCoy asked me the same question when I was injured in Altamid. It was a failed attempt to distract me from the pain. I am not injured at the moment, Jim.”

 Jim shrugs, embarrassed of his attempt to make small talk. “Nothing. I’m just. Curious, I guess. It’s probably not logical to have a favorite color.”

 “No,” Spock agrees. “I do, however, have one that I find pleasant to look at.”

 “Really?”

 “Affirmative.” Spock faces him. “Blue.”

 Jim snorts because of course it would be blue, what else. “For science, huh?”

 The corners of Spock’s mouth twitch upwards but he neither confirms nor denies Jim’s words.

* * *

  
The engineering team in charge of repairing the Enterprise contacts him on a Vet Day. “It won’t be ready until three more months, sir,” Scotty says, disappointing Jim. “But we’re adding new features to her and she’ll soon be the best in the fleet. Would you like to see her?”

It isn’t necessary to go but Jim misses his ship. He sends Spock a message telling him that he can’t be with him today, then hops in a shuttle heading to Yorktown.  
  
Scotty and Keenser greet him at the station, and, to Jim’s delight, Sulu shows up, inviting all of them to his place after they look at the ship. They’re not allowed to go inside because some of the walls in the ship are being taken down, but Jim’s just pleased to see the Enterprise, even from a distance. There’s a large monitor on the glass wall that shows the blueprints of the ship. Scotty explains the upgrades to him, until Sulu tells him to stop since he’ll go on forever and Sulu’s husband’s making them lunch back at his place which they have to eat.  
  
Sulu’s house is exactly like how Jim imagined it: a forest squashed inside a building. The whole place puts Spock’s living room-turned-vegetable garden to shame and the amount of green crawling up the walls nearly camouflages Keenser. “If regulations allowed it, this is what my room in the Enterprise would look like,” Sulu jokes.  
  
“If only my words had the same effect as Starfleet regulations. I keep telling him we don’t need more plants but he just keeps getting them,” Ben, Sulu’s husband, says with an exasperated sigh. He’s smiling, though, and Sulu pushes him playfully.  
  
“You said you don’t mind.”  
  
“It doesn’t bother me that much. Besides, we make sacrifices for the people we love,” Ben says. A fond smile crosses Sulu’s face. Jim knows he isn’t just talking about the plants.  
  
They’d gotten married shortly before Jim had met Sulu, but they’d adopted Demora only a few months before the quest to Nibiru. Sulu had invited them all to his place at San Francisco for Demora’s first birthday with them, and Jim remembers everything about the party, mostly because it’s the same night he discovered that Spock can get drunk on chocolate. (Jim likes to play that memory in his head whenever he’s bored.)

 Jim’s been invited to so many weddings, birthday parties, and other celebrations from members of his crew but he remembers each one because, after everything’s that happened, his crew deserves a bit of happiness. He isn't required to attend any of them, but Jim is a good captain and that’s what good captains do: they get to know their crew beyond their purpose to ship.  
  
During lunch, he sits beside Demora who quickly adopts him as her new best friend. She tells Jim that she wants to be a pilot like Sulu which Jim encourages. Pleased by his support, she reaches for her bag, pulls out a pad of stickers, then sticks a gold star-shaped sticker on Jim’s cheek. “For being good,” she says solemnly, like she’s given him a medal which, in her five-year-old world, probably is.  
  
“You have a great family, Sulu,” Jim says later on. Sulu does a nonchalant shrug, but the proud smile on his face gives him away.  
  
“Starfleet came first for me and I can’t just abandon it. Ben and Demora know that. But it’s good to know that I’m more than just a pilot. Being a father and a husband…” He trails off, a bit self-conscious. “Most people think it’s boring and ordinary to be one, but it’s great.” He taps his temple with his forefinger. “Keeps me grounded.”  
  
They part ways when Yorktown’s computerized sun starts to fade. It’s already late when the shuttle lands back on Earth and Jim’s fighting off the urge to just curl up in his seat and spend the rest of the night there. Spock’s place is closer than his so Jim decides to crash there for tonight. He knows Spock won’t mind; it won’t be the first time, anyway.  
  
Spock is still up when Jim walks in. He’s sitting in one of the egg-shaped chairs by the window, a laptop balanced on his lap. Ursa is fast asleep by his feet, one paw resting over her favorite Keenser-like chew toy. Jim pushes back the thought that he’d be happy to come home to this every day, for the rest of his life.

“Jim, there appears to be a piece of paper attached to your face,” Spock says upon seeing him.  
  
“Ah, I forgot about that.” He touches the sticker. One of the star’s points is already starting to peel off, curling away from his cheek slightly. “I visited Sulu and his daughter gave it to me. For being good.”  
  
Spock slides the laptop off him and rises. He steps closer and Jim’s breath hitches when Spock touches the sticker, his thumb smoothing it down until it lies flat against Jim’s cheek once more. “I agree with her,” Spock murmurs.  
  
They stand there for a moment, Spock’s hand still cradling Jim’s cheek, his thumb resting on the center of the star.

* * *

  
  
The seasons change, traces of winter bleeding over autumn. Most of San Francisco’s residents are Human and since most of them celebrate Christmas, decorations start appearing in supermarkets, and after the last leaf drops, Christmas lights show up everywhere, twinkling like stars over shop windows. Jim doesn’t bother decorating for Christmas but he readies his list of people he ought to buy gifts for. The seasonal change brings the cold with it as well and Jim wakes up one day, dripping snot everywhere. Bones can say whatever he wants about measles and space sickness, but for Jim, the most annoying ailment to have is the common cold, because even with advanced technology, science has yet to find a cure for it.  
  
Ursa at this point, is already the size of a Tibetan mastiff, large enough for a child to ride on. Spock’s Starfleet-issued apartment is big but it isn’t large enough to house a full-grown sehlat. By now, it’s clear that Ursa’s too attached to Spock to even think about sending her back to the research center. “I’ve already discussed it with my father and he agreed to care for her once we return to the ship,” Spock assures Jim when he voices his concern.  
  
“Damn, I’ll miss her when she’s gone,” Jim says. He gathers Ursa in his arms and buries his face in the soft fur around her neck, relishing the warmth. The soft hair tickles his nose and Jim sneezes into her fur, earning him an affronted look from Ursa and an amused glance from Spock.  
  
Spock cooks dinner that night and at first Jim tries to help, but he doesn’t know what he’s doing because Jim’s always been shit at cooking anyway, so he settles for watching Spock. A sharp and spicy smell stems from the large pot boiling on the burner. It makes Jim’s eyes water a bit, makes his nose run even more. “Plomeek soup,” Spock tells him. He opens the lid and steam billows out, smoke curling around him like a scarf. “It’s a traditional Vulcan meal. The replicator always fails to get the taste and consistency right.”  
  
“Is this your favorite?”  
  
“Negative.” And then quietly, Spock adds, “However, my mother used to make it for me when I was ill so it has become rather special to me.”  
  
Jim swallows. “I’m sorry, Spock,” he says, _finally_. He doesn’t go further than that because there are too many things to apologize for, and Spock isn’t even saying anything.  
  
Spock grabs two bowls and pours the soup in them. It’s bright orange, thick and creamy with diced chives swimming on the surface. Jim takes his.  
  
“She would have loved you, Jim,” Spock says once they’re seated. That’s all he says and they don’t talk about it anymore. The soup is warm and spicy sliding down his throat, and it sits inside his stomach with a satisfying warmth that burns away the guilt.

* * *

  
Jim doesn’t sleep at Spock’s place all the time because that would be rude, and after a Caitian student of Spock’s commented that Jim’s shampoo smells the same as Spock’s, well, it’s better not to have Starfleet Academy create rumors that Spock and Jim are sleeping together. They’re not allowed to have a relationship without Starfleet knowing about it because Spock is still his subordinate, and it isn’t true, anyway (even though Jim very much wants it to be true).    
  
He doesn’t have to train today and since he went out for drinks with some friends from the Academy last night, he sleeps in, trusting his alarm clock to wake him at 1100.  
  
Spock wakes him up instead.  
  
“Jim,” he calls. Jim kind of wants to hit him with a pillow when he turns to his alarm clock and sees that it’s only 0800. He can hear the click-clack of Ursa’s claws on the marble floor outside his bedroom.  
  
He doesn’t ask how Spock got in. Spock’s been to his apartment before. Once, shortly after Pike had died and Jim had tried to drown himself in drink. Bones and Spock had taken Jim home, the two of them making sure Jim didn’t die of alcohol poisoning. Most of that night is muggy in Jim’s memory, but he does remember throwing up a lot, Spock’s hand rubbing circles in the space between his shoulder blades while Jim wept.  
  
“My cousin Silon asked me to be a witness in his _koon-ut-kal-if-fee_ ,” Spock goes with a warning glance at Jim that tells him not to ask what a koon-ut-whatsit is. “I will be gone for three days and I cannot take Ursa with me during the ceremony.”  
  
“So you want me to babysit her for three days,” Jim says, letting out a loud yawn. He isn’t really listening but he tries to look like he is. Spock will leave him alone faster if Jim pretends he’s being attentive. He mastered the art of it years ago and Spock’s rarely caught him doing it. “Yeah, sure, Spock, I can do that. Just leave her there for a bit I really need to sleep for a few more hours.”  
  
Spock says something else but Jim’s already drowning him out, sleep calling to him once more. When he wakes again, he’s disoriented, wondering if Spock’s visit was just a dream, when Ursa walks in his room, her leash clamped between her jaws.  
  
The first day passes by without incident. Ursa’s never been to his apartment before but she’s familiar with Jim and seeing Jim around blots down any wariness she’d felt when she first got here. She’s already chosen a favorite spot to sleep on: in front of the stove which isn’t much of a problem because Jim is lazy and uses the replicator more. She stays there most of the time and since she’s already at an age where she isn’t extremely clingy or destructive anymore, Jim barely even has to check in on her.  
  
The second night, he’s curled up in his chair, reading an antique book about pirate ships, when he hears the chirp that signals the front door being opened. He sits up, alarmed, because it’s only been two days so surely that can’t be Spock, when Bones appears in the doorway, looking a bit ruffled and as grumpy as ever. “Don’t you guys ever ring the doorbell?” Jim shouts, but he throws his book down and quickly envelops Bones in a strong hug. He smells a bit like dried sweat, the way anyone does when they’ve been cooped up in public transport for too long, but Jim only squeezes harder.  
  
“You didn’t call me.”  
  
“I wanted to surprise you. And if I’d called beforehand, you would have hidden your junk food. You’ve been ignoring my diet recommendations,” Bones says wryly when he discovers the greasy half-eaten cheeseburger that Jim was snacking on while reading. Jim rolls his eyes at that and tells him to lighten up.  
  
Bones mostly talks about Joanna but Jim doesn’t mind because it seems to make Bones happy. He’s the unofficial godfather of Bones’ kid, anyway, so Jim nods and files away important information about Joanna that he might need when he buys the kid a Christmas gift (“Does she want one of those toy phasers that shoot acid?” “Jim, she’s _nine_.” “So what? I had one when I was that age.”). Eventually, Bones switches from talking about his daughter to ranting about the local government’s lack of funds for the xenomedicine department, when Ursa appears from the kitchen, ears pricked up in alarm.  
  
“What the hell is that?” Bones asks. Ursa freezes at the sound of his voice, her hair bristling, and Jim barely has time to push Bones away when Ursa lets out a low growl and attacks.

* * *

  
  
When Jim wakes, it’s to the smell of incense and the long, low sounds of Ursa howling mournfully outside his bedroom. There’s a dull throbbing pain in his arm which feels strangely heavy. Jim lifts it to inspect the damage: his left forearm is swathed heavily in bandages.  
  
The end of the bed dips. Bones has a scowl on his face that’s slightly marred by the worry and relief in his eyes. “If I’d known that you were keeping some sort of monster here I would have stayed away. I injected you with a pain killer which will last for a few hours.”  
  
“Spock’s outside trying to calm the damn thing,” Bones adds. “I called him as soon as that thing bit you. You’ve been out for a few hours because of the sedative.”  
  
“How bad is it?”  
  
“Nothing a month of rest won’t heal. It won’t scar either so you got off pretty lucky. I think it was just the shock of that thing attacking you that made you black out.”  
  
“Well, she’s never done that before,” Jim argues because Ursa is a sweetheart, even though she did try to maul his arm off. “And she was going to attack _you_ , not me.”  
  
“James T. Kirk, always playing the hero,” Bones teases with a fond smile.  
  
“She probably hates that ugly shirt you have on,” Jim fires back. Bones cuffs him on the back of his head with his tricorder.  
  
“I’m going to stop by a pharmacy to pick up some antibiotics for you,” Bones tells him. “Go talk to the hobgoblin while I’m gone. He has a lot of explaining to do.”  
  
Outside, Spock and Ursa are seated on the floor of Jim’s living room. Ursa looks genuinely sorry and when she spots Jim, her ears flatten against her skull. “Hey, I’m okay, look,” Jim coaxes. He kneels on the floor and shows her the bandaged area. She sniffs at it then gives him an apologetic lick, her tongue hot and sandpaper-rough against the skin of his hand. Satisfied that Jim’s still in one piece, she gets up and moves back to her spot in Jim’s kitchen, leaving him alone with Spock.  
  
Spock who looks a bit annoyed with him.  
  
“Before I left for New Vulcan, I asked you if you were listening to my instructions and you said you were. It is clear to me now that you weren’t.” He sounds angry but the anger doesn’t seem to be directed at Jim. He’s still wearing Vulcan robes which are a little wrinkled from travel. The sleeves of it are long enough to hide his hands, but Jim thinks he might be clenching and unclenching them. He remembers Spock doing the same before he’d strangled Jim. The memory causes a phantom ache to appear around his throat. Jim rubs at it.  
  
But Spock doesn’t seem to want to attack him. Instead he’s looking at the swirling pattern on the sleeve of his robe. Spock almost looks shy, embarrassed even, which doesn’t make sense at all to Jim.  
  
“Sehlats are highly territorial and protective creatures,” Spock goes. He pauses to make sure Jim is listening, eyes narrowed at him in suspicion until Jim snorts and confirms that Spock has his full attention. “They serve as guardians for the houses of Vulcans. One cannot simply enter a territory that a sehlat is protecting. The only ones who can enter uninvited are blood relatives of the sehlat’s masters or the mates of their masters.”

“You’re Ursa’s master,” Jim says, mind whirring at the information. “She attacked Bones because he entered this place uninvited but—why didn’t she attack me when I went to your place because you didn’t warn her about me and—”  
  
Jim stops. Stares.  
  
“Ursa considers you as mine. My mate.”  
  
And then everything clicks. T’Kal asking him if he’s from Spock’s house, Ursa’s affection for him, the disbelieving looks Vulcans gave him whenever he walked Ursa.

 He’s Spock’s _mate._  
  
Fuck, is the only thought that comes to Jim’s mind, before he leans forward, grabs Spock by the front of his robe, and kisses him.  
  
For a moment, Spock doesn’t respond, remaining stiff and fish-lipped against Jim’s mouth. He’s about to pull away and apologize when Spock slides his hands into Jim’s hair and starts to kiss back _hard_. Jim’s hands skitter up Spock’s hips, finally settling on Spock’s shoulders so he can push him back, stopping only when he’s got Spock pinned against the couch, his legs on either side of Jim’s waist.  
  
Jim doesn’t understand how he was able to be at Spock’s side for years without knowing the feel and shape of Spock’s mouth on his.  
  
They’re still kissing when the front door swishes open and Bones walks in, the bottle of antibiotics dropping to the floor when he spots Jim draped over Spock. “About damn time,” Bones says after he recovers. “Also, damn it, Scotty’s going to be a wealthy man.”  
  
“You guys made a bet?” Jim yelps while Spock splutters beneath him.  
  
“It was bound to happen and Keenser insisted.” Bones shrugs. He picks up the antibiotics, sets it on the side table, and then fixes them with a shrewd look. “So I guess this means I have to leave so you two can catch up.”  
  
“You don’t have to Bones,” Jim says, rolling his eyes because damn it, thanks Bones for making Spock think he’s going to jump him as soon as they’re alone. He wants sex because sex with Spock is something Jim’s wanted every since he looked at him and thought ‘yeah, I’d tap that’, but he does respect boundaries. “It’s not like we’re going to—”  
  
“I agree, Dr. McCoy,” Spock says, cutting off Jim. The implication makes Bones raise an eyebrow and makes Jim’s jaw literally drop in surprise. Bones snorts, mutters something about losing credits, and then with a ‘congratulations’ and a warning at Jim to not message him any details about what will happen in Jim’s bed, he finally leaves.  
  
“Were you joking?” Jim asks, turning to Spock. His hair is mussed, lips kiss-swollen, and the front of his robe is screaming to be ironed thanks to Jim’s hands.  
  
_Please, for the love of god, tell me you weren’t joking. Tell me you didn’t suddenly change your mind.  
_  
The look Spock gives him is the only answer Jim needs.

* * *

  
  
They move to the bedroom, closing the door behind them so Ursa won’t walk in, and in the darkness of the room, Jim slides Spock’s robe off him and presses his mouth against the uneven skin on Spock’s side. There’s only so much a dermal regenerator can fix. _I could have lost you_. Spock’s hand slides to the back of his head, his fingers gently tracing circles on his nape. Jim isn’t a touch telepath like Spock, but he understands what Spock is saying.  
  
It’s the same thing he’d wanted to say upon waking up in the hospital with Khan’s blood running in his veins and Spock standing before him with relief in his eyes.  
  
_You didn’t lose me. I’m okay now. We’re okay._  
  
He opens his mouth to say the words out loud, but as his hands find Spock’s skin, what comes out instead is, “I want you.”  
  
For a moment, Spock merely stares at him and Jim does his best to quell the feeling of rejection forming in the pit of his stomach. Then Spock touches his face, fingers skimming his psi points before his palm finally rests on the sharp line of Jim’s jaw.  
  
“Yes,” Spock breathes. And then he smiles that little smile of his, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “Captain.”  
  
Jim gapes at him. “I knew it!” he crows. “I knew you like calling me that.” Beneath him, Spock’s mouth forms an all too human grin, sweet yet somehow mischievous. Jim leans down to taste it.

* * *

  
  
The sun’s already risen when Jim wakes. Spock isn’t in bed but the smell of something frying gives him the answer to Spock’s whereabouts. He finds Spock at the stove, one of Jim’s old shirts pulled tight across his shoulders. Ursa greets him with a wag of her tail and Jim leans down to return the greeting by scratching her behind her ears. Spock glances over his shoulder at him.

“You look good in my old shirt,” Jim says. He bites his lip. “You’d look good in my command gold, as well.” There’s a dark green bruise on the side of Spock’s neck which Jim takes pride in because Spock doesn’t bruise easily and last night, Spock had let him discover the parts of Spock’s body where marks can be left—his neck, the inside of his thighs, the skin over the sharp bones of his hips.  
  
Jim pulls at the neck of his shirt and kisses the visible bruise, sliding his mouth on the junction of Spock’s neck and shoulder until Spock swats at him with a spatula.

* * *

  
  
The day will come when Spock has to send Ursa to Sarek’s and in less than a month, once the Enterprise is fully repaired, Jim and Spock will settle once more into their roles of Captain and First Officer. But his role as captain of a starship won’t last forever, and when that time comes he’ll have to settle and find something that will keep him grounded.  
  
It’s fine. Jim isn’t scared of that part of the future anymore. He knows what he wants. He’s already _living_ it.  
  
Spock switches off the stove, sets the spatula on the counter, then turns around to properly face Jim. “Good morning,” he says before kissing him.  
  
_This is what I want_ , Jim thinks. _Exactly this.  
_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
